Featuring Kayleigh McKnight


(Scene: The steampunk city of New Albion. Our Narrator appears to take us on a guided tour. The music is a tango with some industrial elements lightly in the background)

Several hundred years before
A gambler and a monk embarked
On a long trek through the endless prairies of the North
They had a fierce debate
About ¬¬Gd and chance and fate
and to resolve it agreed a game of cards indeed be played

The game went on all day
And through the next and next they played
And around them a shelter was built to shield the rain
A street around the shelter formed
Then a church, a house, a bar
And that is how the city of New Albion was born

New Albion today
With bustling streets, machines, cafes
And the nice, the wise, the eccentric and insane
The Mafia’s run by
A red haired dwarf with just one eye
Whose affairs he decides with a pair of silver dice

Over the Zeppelin Union Pilots
A castrati boss presides
And we hear his song each afternoon as he flies by
There’s prisons made of lead
And gargoyles of iron shreds
And Annabelle McAlistair who’s raising up the dead
Annabelle McAlistair who’s raising up the dead

The Lodge on Ashland Street
Is where the Alchemists Guild meets
And to join you have to craft a glass pearl from a young girl’s dream
A group of thieves they heard
Broke in the lodge to steal the pearls
But In the morning they were found there sitting staring unperturbed

The twilight fog they say
An aphrodisiac contains
Nonsense, but yet they copulate in doorways anyway
There’s inventors and inbred
In upper class it’s been said
And Annabelle McAlistair who’s raising up the dead.
Annabelle McAlistair who’s raising up the dead.


from The Dolls Of New Albion, A Steampunk Opera, released May 8, 2012
Featuring Kayleigh McKnight



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Paul Shapera New York, New York

These days the teddy bear picnic is a rather somber affair. They mostly just sit together in silence. The beings who had taken these guises had over time lost all recollection of their origins, purpose, or selves. They only know they are someplace foreign, cut off from whatever homeland they once had, utterly alone in an incomprehensible world. Some picnics they listen to Paul Shapera. ... more

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